


Rumination

by AltFire



Series: Unlikely Friendships [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anger Management, Blind Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Gen, Meditation, No Romance, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-09-13 13:06:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9125044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AltFire/pseuds/AltFire
Summary: Jack “Soldier: 76” Morrison is grumpy, surly, and unpersonable - he’s not the leader he once was, charismatic and kind and good, the posterboy for Overwatch and its ideals. Now he’s plagued with regret, guilt, and anger, and it’s especially obvious now that he’s back with Overwatch once more. People are getting fed up with it, and some are even worried about him, until an unlikely friend appears in the form of omnic monk Tekhartha Zenyatta, new to Overwatch and offering an unthought-of solution to Jack’s problem.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My entry in the Overwatch Big Bang! Check out the awesome accompanying art [here.](http://kahahuna.tumblr.com/post/155254034936/my-contribution-to-the-overwatch-big-bang)
> 
> EDIT 18 JAN 2017: Chapters 1 & 2 edited for wording, grammar, and continuity (Zen was supposed to walk, not float, and any mention of McCree that implied he was at Gibraltar presently was removed). Took me nearly three weeks to realize I'd posted older drafts instead of the finished versions. Oops.

In the heat of battle, there was a lot to focus on. 

First, the sounds of it all. Heavy footfalls and the singing of Angela’s valkyrie suit, Jack’s own heavy pulse rifle firing in jarring bursts, Correia dos Santos’s music (and the idea of  _ healing music _ is still bizarre but Jack knows better than to question it when he’s pretty sure it’s already saved his life a couple times), Song’s biting comments and the clanking of her mech’s feet on the concrete. Distantly, Winston was roaring and Genji was shouting in Japanese (that way that Jack knows makes him glow green in a way that isn't fully explained by his body's neon biolights, and that’s another thing he won’t question), and all around him Talon members in massive numbers were yelling at each other, screaming in pain, running for cover, firing off inferior rifles. Jack would have estimated their numbers but he didn’t have to - his visor’s readout told him there were over forty individual agents, more than twice as many as they’d estimated. His own voice echoed, shouting orders and growling out frustrations only for them to fall on deaf ears.

Second, the feelings - the building headache from all the noise, sure, but the way his rifle had overheated from overuse, making his hands sweat inside his gloves. It was a hot night outside Buenos Aires and it almost made Jack regret his motorcycle jacket, sticking to his otherwise bare forearms and trapping heat around his shoulders, chest, neck. Sweat tickled as it slid between his shoulder blades and he grimaced behind his mask, thankful that it, at least, had proper cooling and ventilation to prevent sweating. The concrete was unforgiving under his boots and his knees creaked with every movement, their protests shifting from whines to screams whenever he’d break into a sprint. Jack wasn’t young anymore and he could feel it in his bones, but he’d be damned before he let something like age keep him from fighting. 

Third, the smell of blood and hot air, engine oil and the searing hot-cold of nanotech healing fumes. The oil was especially pungent, thick and metallic in the heavy humid air like he was swimming through the stuff. Earth and steel and an imminent thunderstorm and his own breath trapped behind his mask.

Fourth, a mouthful of his own blood from a bitten tongue he was forced to swallow and the nanotech again, burning and freezing and rebuilding the abused muscle. He breathed through his nose, unwilling to inhale that chemical stink, and thanked Angela absently.

Fifth, the sights. The floodlights mounted on the warehouse bore down dramatically, throwing sharp shadows at strange angles across the ground, flickering stripes of yellow-white and pitch like an irregular strobelight. Flashes of pink and yellow-orange and green as the rest of his team moved around him, Winston’s massive blue dome and Genji’s biolights and Angela’s healing beam, wings of light outstretched as she trailed behind Song and her flamboyant mech. Wait, her mech - it was in perfect condition, clean and almost unscratched, no parts littering the ground and no missing pink limbs. Where was that smell of oil coming from?

“Fall back!” Winston boomed, loud enough for Jack to hear even without the communicator in the frame of his visor.

“Why’re there so  _ many?” _ Song whined, voice high and frustrated.

The number had dwindled significantly, halved in the time since they’d touched down. Jack huffed through his nose, eyeing the number in the bottom center of his vision - his tactical visor was nearly ready to deploy. They couldn’t leave  _ now. _

90%... 91%...

Another pair of Talon agents fell before him and he didn’t move to fall back. Song’s mech’s boosters sounded loud at his ear then distant, back toward the transport. His brow furrowed into the top of his visor.

“My visor’s nearly ready,” he growled into the comm. “Mercy, at my back!”

“Soldier, fall  _ back!” _ Winston again, even louder with an edge of annoyance.

He didn’t hear the valkyrie suit and didn’t feel the all-over tingle of the Caduceus Staff - she’d ignored his order, like all his orders had gone ignored. Jack cursed as enemy fire grazed his shoulder and dropped his biotic field, nanotech blistering hot-cold in the wound. Another two were down by the time his skin had stitched back together.

95%... 96%...

Pale blue hexagons stitched together by light into the dome of Winston’s shield sprung to life around him and Jack nearly barked out a “thank you,” until a massive arm wrapped around his middle from behind. Jack made a noise of frustration and confusion, firing a spray of pulse rounds into empty air. Winston didn’t pay him any mind and triggered a jump pack, taking a massive leap toward the transport and shoving Jack in ahead of him, Genji and Angela and Song and Correia dos Santos already inside, staring. Song was halfway out of her mech but she was frozen much the same as everyone else was, watching  Jack stumble, barely keeping his footing, and the bay door slowly close.

99%... 100%

Jack growled, resisting an impulse to throw his rifle on the ground and stomp like a child.

“What the hell, Winston!” he shouted, rounding on Winston with an accusatory finger jabbed in his direction. “I was about to-”

“You were about to get yourself killed,” Winston said, sounding more tired than anything. The exhasperated frustration in his tone set Jack’s blood a-boiling.

“Not if Angela-”

“I was following orders, Jack,” Angela interjected, brow furrowed.

“Not mine!”

“You shouldn’t be calling out orders in the first place,” Winston continued. “Even if she  _ had  _ followed your orders, you’d have put the both of you in danger.”

Another growl crawled up Jack’s throat, but instead of trying to argue further - they’d failed the goddamn mission because of this! - he stomped over and sat at the base of the wall, breathing heavily and waiting for the adrenaline to wear off.

Once the transport was in the air everyone turned their attention back off him at last. Winston and Angela were talking privately in the cockpit, and Jack imagined he could feel their eyes on him. The thought made him grimace behind the mask. The new recruits had taken over the table and corner seats, talking in that quick, near-nonsensical way young people do and listening to music softly. Genji was on his lonesome, sitting opposite the doors with his feet crossed under him, silent and still in the way he’d never been when he’d first joined Overwatch.

Jack’s breathing was the loudest sound in the whole of the transport.

Since when was Genji so quiet anyway? Before - and even now, on the battlefield - he had enough energy for a man thrice his size. He was boisterous, lively, almost obnoxious once McCree and Lena had cracked open his angry shell. Now he could tone it all down at the drop of a hat, dropping silently to the ground into that peaceful pose. What had gotten into him since Overwatch closed up shop?

Then he remembered - that omnic, Zenyatta. Of the same ilk of Tekhartha Mondatta (who Jack had heard more than enough about from Lena and the news, especially after his assassination), a monk preaching peace and tranquility and going on about “the Iris,” whatever that was. When Genji had shown up to Gibraltar for the recall, Zenyatta had been at his side, half naked and with a permanent expression of calm. Jack hadn’t met him, but he’d seen the omnic around, heard him speaking to Genji and helping Angela in the med bay. He didn’t have an opinion either way about him, but he thought it best not to spend too much time around any of the new recruits. Hell, he hardly spent any time with the  _ old  _ recruits. He could count the number of times he’d spoken to Angela or Lena or Reinhardt since he’d shown up on his fingers.

A sound of metal against metal jerked him from his reverie and he refocused as Genji crossed the transport toward him. Jack watched wordlessly as the cyborg took a seat at his side, legs outstretched in front of him instead of folded. Jack’s steely frown didn’t relent but his mask was as expressionless as Genji’s was. Even ground.

“Comman- um.” He cut himself off, cleared his throat. “Soldier. Morrison-san,” he settled on the old formality, clearly uncomfortable with the codename.

“Shimada.”

When he spoke again, Jack could hear his frown. “Are you alright?”

Jack bristled. “I’m fine.”

Genji leveled a look at him, obviously disbelieving. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Just as blunt, just as clipped.

Genji huffed, and Jack wondered not for the first time just how much of him was still flesh. Did he have lungs? Did he need them? “A lot’s happened. Switzerland and- and everything after.”

“I know. I lived it.”

He expected Genji to get annoyed at the short responses, but he was just as calm as ever when he replied. The kid’s changed. “I’m sorry. I’m just... I’m saying,  if you need to talk to someone-”

It’s Jack’s turn to look at him, sharp enough behind his visor that Genji just sighs and folds his legs back under himself, settling into silence.

The transport was nearly silent then, the kids asleep at the table and the gentle hum of the engine drowning out whatever other voices there might have been. The difference between this and the way it was before was palpable, a pervasive silence thick in the air like fog. It felt oppressive, as if daring someone to break it, and before- before, when the transport would get quiet, Jack would have engaged anyone who would listen in conversation, dragging Gabe or Gérard or Torbjörn into talking whether they wanted to or not. It used to be easy for him to be that leader, that positive force, that center of attention. Now, he resented Angela’s prying eyes from the cockpit, wishing she and everyone else would just leave him  _ alone _ .

He guessed he’d changed, too.

\--

Gibraltar was beautiful - the base was, at least. Jack wondered, not for the first time, why he hadn’t taken the time to explore the tiny territory away from the secluded watchpoint, but conceded to the same excuses - he was busy, he had to lie low, he didn’t have the time to spend doing something so frivolous.

Still, there was enough to admire even here, surrounded on three sides by Overwatch facilities. The sound and smell and spray of the ocean were crisp and refreshing in the warm air, shimmering and reflecting the darkening, reddening evening sky. The water stretched to the horizon, glittering like broken glass-

_ -everywhere, glass and steel and concrete and fire and smoke and he can’t breathe, can barely see. His eyes are burning, blurring, and his throat is barely dragging in ragged breaths laden with ash and fumes. He can’t breathe, can’t think, something smells like blood and charred flesh and he can taste iron on his tongue. Goddamn it, why hadn’t Gabe just- _

“They are worried about you.”

Jack jumped, fingers twitching for a trigger, for his visor before stilling. He shook his head minutely to clear his mind (as much as it  _ could  _ be cleared) and fixed his attention on whomever had interrupted that damned memory. To his surprise, Zenyatta was standing silently at his side.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he said, gruff and dismissive.

Zenyatta turned that expressionless face on him, and while there was no indication, Jack was certain the omnic had seen straight through his bullshit. Across the courtyard in front of the entrance to Winston's lab, Reinhardt’s booming laugh could be heard above the talking of the others - among them Lena and three of the new recruits, Zaryanova and Correia dos Santos and Song. He hadn’t realized he was staring at them and turned his gaze to the ground. Something like nostalgia wrapped a clawed hand around his throat, choking off any potential attempt at speech before it started. Fine by him; he hadn’t anything to say.

“I sense anger in you,” Zenyatta said, thoughtfully. “Grief. Regret. A deep sadness, the like of which I’ve only encountered in those who have lost everything.”

He suppressed a flinch. “That’s none of your-”

“You may have lost, Jack, but look around you,” the omnic continued, gesturing with a glinting steel hand at the base and the sunset over the ocean. “Not all that is lost is lost forever.”

“What the hell do you want from me?” Jack snapped, a defensive, vulnerable growl building in his chest. “If you wanna preach-”

“I want to help you,” Zenyatta said, and Jack imagined he was frowning. Trick of the light off his polished chrome faceplate, surely. “You deserve peace after so many years of conflict, both within and without yourself.”

That startled a dry laugh out of Jack. “I’m not meant to be peaceful,” he said, like it was obvious. It  _ was _ . He was a weapon made human - had been ever since the enhancement program, though he hadn’t realized it before his supposed death. “So thanks, but no thanks.”

There was a soft hum of machinery and a short expulsion of steam that sounded awfully like a sigh. “I understand. If you change your mind, you are free to join Genji and myself in the practice range any morning that’s convenient to-”

Jack pulled a face behind his mask. “Wait, the practice range? What kinda ‘peace’ do you find there?”

“We meditate in a private room,” Zenyatta explained. “I would prefer to do it outside, but it is difficult to find quiet on the base. And the humidity is terrible for my hair.”

It was Jack’s turn to stare, and after a moment Zenyatta snickered at his own joke. “Ah, well, I thought it was funny,” he said, lightly. “As I said, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He bowed his head. “Peace be upon you.”

“Right,” Jack said mostly to himself, shoving down an instinctive ‘and also with you’ forged from years of childhood church-going. Zenyatta regarded him for another moment before he stepped away, toward the med bay where he’d been making himself useful, as of late. Jack himself didn’t budge from his spot, leaning back against the hollow shell of an unused mobile operations unit. All at once he huffed an annoyed breath and kicked off, suddenly itching all over. The mild, humid evening heat felt cloying, and he ached to take off his jacket and visor, which he still hadn’t done in front of anyone but Angela in the med bay.

It wasn’t as if no one knew who he was; or, rather, who he used to be. The mask wasn’t an anonymity measure, as much as it was armor. Physical, sure, but- he felt vulnerable without it. Exposed. Naked. On top of that, he was very nearly blind without it, and so used to the air filter that fresh air tasted sour. As such, he only ever took it off indoors and in private. The brightly colored motorcycle jacket was less important, and he shrugged it off on the walk back to his private quarters. The breeze was refreshing on his bared arms and through the cotton of his threadbare, well-worn t-shirt.

The walk to his rooms was familiar, almost entirely muscle memory as he'd been given his old quarters when he rejoined, and he allowed his mind to wander - a dangerous allowance, perhaps, but one he couldn't help. _ “They are worried about you.”  _ Jack wasn't an idiot. He knew people watched him when they thought he couldn't see, whispered and pointed and shared looks. He was nearly blind, but not  _ blind _ . Zenyatta had to have it wrong though - they were likely frustrated with, angry at, scared of Jack. No, of Soldier: 76. A vigilante does not a good leader make.

Jack scoffed. That damn omnic must’ve been confused, too soft-hearted to see the truth. Unwilling to realize that no one was  _ worried, _ that they were chafing under his attempts to command and likely wishing he'd never responded to the recall. Sometimes  _ he  _ wished he hadn't. Should've just died when Overwatch did, let sleeping dogs lie. Things would be a lot simpler for him and easier for everyone else if he was dead.

Before he could continue down that morbid train of thought, he'd arrived at the door to his quarters, a pale rectangle on the door where his name used to be. He'd slammed the butt of his rifle against it when he'd arrived until its adhesive finally gave and it clattered to the ground with a thin clang. The next time he’d been to the edge of the rock he’d thrown it to sea.

Now, he input the door code and triggered the opening mechanism. They stuck halfway, making an ungodly screeching sound of metal on metal and he sighed, wedging one shoulder and one foot inside to force the door open. The tracks stuck and the doors were reluctant to budge from disuse over the years but were unable to resist his considerable force. They screamed, high and tight like a banshee, but gave easily. Luckily they closed easier than they opened, leaving only a centimeter of space between them.

His room had been much as he remembered it when he first got there - same spartan furniture, same unadorned window in the back wall, same framed photograph of himself and Gabriel and Ana on the nightstand. He’d tucked that away almost instantly, suppressing twin urges to stare at it and to chuck it at the wall and shatter the glass. There’d been medals and accolades on the walls, too, though not many - he had quarters on most watchpoints and at the Swiss HQ, and he liked to have something personal in each. A photo of his parents and brothers in Grand Mesa, a collection of challenge coins in Hong Kong. He’d put those away too, hidden them under beds and in chests of drawers while he searched the watchpoint for answers so he could do so without the ghosts of his past breathing down his neck.

Every surface in the room was bare and Jack pried off his mask, taking a breath of air and cooling off the lines of his face. The room was thrown from sharp, red-tinted clarity into pale light and shadow, no more a blur than a wash of meaningless color, shapeless and formless. His room was familiar enough that he didn’t need to see, usually, but he still hated the reminder of his age and the vulnerability inherent in blindness. He peeled off his gloves and tossed them and his jacket where the photograph had been, huffed, and sat down on the edge of the bed. The blinds were closed and the room was growing dark with the encroaching night. Just as he was reaching for the rest of his visor’s frame on his jaw to remove it for the night, there was a knock on the door.

He elected to ignore it at first, but after a long moment there was another series of knocks, more insistent than before. Jack groaned, reaching for his visor, but there was another knock, and an accented, “Morrison! Open up!”

He huffed, but he’d recognize that voice anywhere. He crossed the room to open the door blind. 

“What,” he grunted, the dark-and-blue blur before him shifting with a sound of armor plates and mechanical joints.

Fareeha was silent for a long moment. “Goodness,” she exhaled. “Your- I haven’t seen your face until now. I... I don’t know what I expected.”

“A corpse?” Jack offered darkly.

She, again, was silent. He imagined she was frowning. “I guess.” She paused again, and there was a flicker of color that may have been movement. “Can you...? Um. Are you-”

“Blind?” He realized he must have been looking far off from where she actually was, though he’d thought he’d been close. Damn. Worse than he’d thought. “I don’t wear that visor for shits an’ giggles.”

“I know, I just-” She sounded flustered. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Winston wants to see you.”

“What for?” He turned his back on her to carefully pad back over to the bed and take up his visor off the table. He could hear another indelicate movement of her Raptora suit - a shrug, perhaps.

“You can ask him yourself, Unc- Morrison.”

He resecured his visor and turned back to her, face hidden but an eyebrow raised. “What was that, Fareeha?”

“Nothing,” Fareeha said, and even if Jack couldn’t see her flush with the red tint of his visor he knew it was there. They both knew what she’d almost said. “Shut up. Go talk to the ape.”

He chuckled. “Alright. When I get there I’ll tell him you said that.”

She glared, a small smile on her lips betraying her mood. “You wouldn’t dare.” In that moment of playful anger she reminded him fiercely of Ana, and he considered sharing the photograph he’d stowed away with her. Another time, perhaps. God, she looked so much like her - a reminder as nostalgic as it was painful of yet another old friend lost to time.

\--

The cave entrance to Winston’s lab was open when Jack arrived, a cool draft blowing out from inside, likely a combination of the cave’s inherent chill and the extensive air conditioning system used to keep Athena from overheating. Jack could hear his mother’s voice in the back of his mind, a distant echo of,  _ “Close that door before you let the cold out!” _

As he entered the darker space his vision shifted, an almost imperceptible transition into night vision mode in the same shade of orange-red. It was a drastic difference in temperature from the dank humidity of the rest of the base where the sea breezes couldn’t hit, but it was comfortable.

Winston’s lab reminded Jack, perhaps inappropriately, of a zoo enclosure with the tire hanging from the ceiling and the general mess. It had been built with Winston in mind, the Gibraltar base having been constructed soon after Winston (as well as Genji and Lena) officially joined the ranks. As such, the entire second floor loft area, which consisted of the rows of servers and Winston’s computer, was nearly inaccessible to anyone whose feet were planted firmly on the ground. The staircase leading to the second floor was nearly lost in the mess, and Jack often forgot it was even there.

Jack was already not in the mood to hang around. He’d been ready to rest for the evening when Fareeha had come to deliver the message, and Jack simply wished for it to be over and done with so he could leave. He cleared his throat pointedly, eyes flicking toward a hint of movement through the second storey glass. He heard Winston huff a breath out his nose and shuffle toward the exit on all fours.

“Morrison,” he said, tone neutral. He climbed over the railing to take hold of the rope and use the tire as a means to hit ground gently. “Glad Fareeha found you awake.”

“Winston.” Jack’s tone was less forgiving. “What is this about?”

Winston frowned, an expression of seriousness rather than emotion. “How do you think the last mission went?”

Jack pulled a face behind his mask. The last mission had been... fine. Frustrating, when his calls for action went ignored, but it had been successful in the end.

“Fine,” he said, mirroring Winston’s frown.

Winston tsked, coming to stand in front of Jack. “I seem to remember... tensions running high. You seemed pretty angry on the transport.”

Jack bristled. “I was frustrated.”

“Why?” Winston asked.

It felt almost  _ accusatory, _ and something fierce reared up in Jack’s throat. “What is this about?” he repeated, almost spat.

Winston sighed. “You used to be strike-commander. You’re used to being in charge, I get it, and we as a group respect that-”

“But?” Jack felt his brows furrow down into the top of his visor.

“You’re not the leader anymore, Jack,” Winston said, softening on Jack’s name. Jack didn’t soften. “You- We can’t have you defying orders and throwing out your own. It’s not your place and you put the rest of the team in danger.”

“I was doing my job!”

“That is  _ not  _ your job.” Winston sounded tired, like he was dealing with an exceptionally petulant child instead of the former head of Overwatch.

Jack didn’t take much pride in the title anymore - not after Switzerland and the realization that maybe Gabe was right, that maybe Jack hadn’t been right for the job - but even if he hadn’t been the right choice, he was damn close. He couldn’t stand by and take orders anymore. Leading was in his blood.

“Maybe it should be,” he snapped, and instantly felt a part of him reject it. Leading came naturally to him, sure, but last time he’d done so it ended in fire and loss and years of bitter guilt and regret.

Of course Winston was not privy to this inner conflict, and he sighed again. “We want to give you a leadership position again, Fareeha especially, but...” He paused. “To put it nicely, you’re not fit for active agent status, let alone a leadership position. You were at the top of the food chain for too long, and a  _ vigilante  _ thereafter. You’re a walking time bomb.”

Jack scoffed. That was ‘nicely’? “Thanks.”

Winston continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Until you can get your temper under control and can work with the team, you’re no longer allowed out in the field.”

That fierce thing in his throat reared up again, baring its teeth.  _ “What?” _

“You heard me. You could have gotten yourself or the rest of the team killed with your recklessness.”

“But-”

“I don’t want to have to put you on complete probation,” Winston said. “When you prove to me and everyone else that you can work with the team, come talk to me. In the meantime, try to relax. You’re scaring people with all your growling and stomping around.”

Indignant and furious, Jack spun on his heel and definitely did  _ not  _ stomp out of there like a child, wishing distantly for a door to slam or a wall to punch a hole through. Instead, he began retracing the path back to his room. Distantly, he noticed a low rumbling growl, and realized it was coming from his own throat. He cleared it, face warming, and slowed his pace. Maybe Winston was right. He had grown irascible in the time between the decline and fall of Overwatch and the recall, hot-tempered and... grumpy.

_ “Try to relax,” _ Winston had said. Jack snorted. He could relax. Easy.

He knew just the omnic to talk to.   
  



	2. Chapter 2

Up early and taking the familiar route to the practice quarters, Jack missed the nostalgic taste of salt spray and the feel of it on his face. How many times had he made this walk before? Dozens? Hundreds? Now all he can feel is the static cushion of filtered air between his face and visor.

Every moment spent at the watchpoint feels like a waking dream, old memory and new sensation blending into something different altogether. So much hasn't changed, the layout and view as familiar as the back of his hand, but so much has - it's so empty, for one. Where there used to be dozens of agents and staff buzzing around like the watchpoint was a hive, now there were just over a dozen of them. Jack could go all day without seeing anyone, a week without speaking. Part of him liked the solitude, part of him couldn't help but miss the old bustle.

The greater practice area was empty, training bots powered down and lights off, when Jack arrived. Workout equipment lay out, recently used by Jack's guess. Likely another agent had been here early to get in some time alone. Jack himself hadn't made use of the space since he'd arrived in Gibraltar.

Along the back wall there was a row of four doors, equally spaced and numbered. Light seeped out of the crack under the entrance to private practice room 1 - likely his destination. He stared at the number, and glanced back down at the light. He should... He should knock, right? Something in his chest got tight and uncomfortable. No, he should leave. He should go back to bed. No need to break his avoidant streak over something so trivial as- as  _ meditation.  _ He shouldn't be here, shouldn't intrude-

Jack huffed, steeled himself, and opened the door without knocking.

The overhead lights were turned dim, and immediately Jack's eyes were drawn to the brightest thing in the room; Zenyatta's orbs, circling him and glowing bright gold like candlelight. The omnic was sat in lotus position, hands resting on his knees and head bowed. Genji sat at his side, slightly angled to face his master a bit more, the both of them resting on a square of padded mats laid out in the center of the room. Genji was the first to notice their guest, turning his face -  _ maskless,  _ his visor sat on the mat by his knee - to stare inquisitively at Jack.

"Morrison-san?" he said, brow furrowed. Jack could have likely counted the number of times he'd seen his face on one hand, and every time the sheer amount of scarring startled him. Not for the first time, Jack wondered just what his brother had done to him. "What are-?"

Zenyatta lifted his head, orbs ceasing to move and glow and moving back to hang heavy around his neck and he- he seemed to descend, and Jack realized he hadn't been sitting on the mat - he'd been floating inches above it. How had he done that? Omnic tech sure was something else.

"Ah, Jack!" he said brightly. "You've decided to join us - how delightful!"

The uncomfortable feeling didn't abate, but Jack stepped into the room and shut the door behind him, wordless.

Genji's sparse brows tilted up in surprise and he turned his eyes on Zenyatta. "Did you invite him?"

Zenyatta nodded. "Of course, my student," he replied. "You of all people know I am not one to turn away an opportunity to help."

Jack cleared his throat, still standing by the door. Both the omnic and the cyborg turned to face him at once. "Winston, uh. He said I needed to relax," he admitted. "After that last mission. My active status is suspended."

Genji nodded in understanding. "Master Zenyatta's teachings calmed the vengeful dragon within me," he said. "I am certain they may help you as well."

Jack nodded, eyes wandering the small, bare room. Some miscellaneous workout equipment tucked into a corner, a large logo emblazoned on one wall. Despite the familiarity, Jack felt almost absurdly out of place in present company.

Zenyatta made a sound like a clearing throat, drawing Jack's attention back. "Sit," he instructed, gesturing with one hand at a spot directly across from himself, and after a moment of hesitation Jack did so.

The next several minutes were filled with instruction. How to get into a lotus position, how to breathe, how to focus on breathing without controlling it, how to clear his mind. It all seemed ridiculous to Jack, contradictory and confusing. He  _ felt  _ ridiculous, scarred and fumbling hands pulling off his shoes and resting on trembling knees, the limbs unused to the strange position.

Once Zenyatta decided Jack was ready, he and Genji resumed where they'd left off. The practice room fell silent at once save for Zenyatta and Genji's machinery, Jack's breathing, and the- a sound like a bell, arrhythmic and irregular. Again Jack couldn't help but open his eyes, curiosity getting the better of him. The sound was coming from Zenyatta's orbs, randomly rising and dropping to emit the note, cryptic holographic symbols in an alphabet Jack didn't recognize appearing for short instants in bright light above them.

He  _ really  _ wasn't getting this. Not for lack of trying! Or, at least, he  _ thought  _ he was trying. He shut his eyes once more and took a breath through his nose, rolling his shoulders in an attempt at forcing out some of that tension. Another minute of silence, and a restless frustration started manifesting like pins and needles in his calves, an urge to use this space for its intended purpose, to sprint and strain and work himself until he couldn't think anymore. This sitting still would never make him relax, surely. The only times he ever felt anything resembling peace nowadays was when he wasn't able to think, either too pumped full of adrenaline from a fight or too exhausted to move. It was like he was trapped in his mind, now, and it took all his will to force his thoughts to stay grounded in his present frustration instead of wandering to the past.

It felt like hours before the ringing ended and there was a shift of mechanical movement, and Jack's eyes snapped open in an instant, shoulders  _ finally  _ relaxing from sheer relief. Oh, thank god, it was over.

"How do you feel, Jack?" Zenyatta asked, stretching his arms over his head and descending to rest on the mat once more.

"Great," Jack said, too-quick, and before the omnic could follow up he'd grabbed his shoes and bolted out the door.

\--

He sped all the way back to his room barefoot, cursing under his breath. In retrospect, that had been incredibly rude, and the urge to punch a hole through a wall resurfaced under the scarred skin of his knuckles. Zenyatta had been trying to help; Jack should have at least pretended he was grateful. Even if he thought meditation was more ridiculous by the second. Even if it didn't work at all to clear his mind and relax him.

Maybe... Maybe it wasn't supposed to work the first time. He couldn't imagine Genji's "dragon" was domesticated in an hour.

He got back to his room without seeing anyone, locking the door back shut behind him. He had to keep trying. It's not like he had a lot of options.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Jack went about his morning routine - showered, dressed, and left for breakfast in the mess, already having forgot the earlier morning's events aside from the reminder in the form of the time. It was nearing late morning, now. He usually would have eaten by now, and went back to hiding out in his room or wandering the base in solitude. The universe refused to let him have any peace this morning, it seemed. He could already hear movement around the base, quiet conversation he hoped he'd be able to avoid.

Halfway to the mess, he- well, not him, but his visor alerted him to a flash of movement and bright light behind him, and in an instant an even brighter smile is in his face.

"Hiya, Jack!" Lena chirped, high and clear as the distant seabirds. "Hardly ever see you around this early! How're you feelin'?"

Jack grunted in response, dismissive. She fell into step beside him, whistling like she meant to be inconspicuous and casual. The sound grated on Jack's nerves.

When the silence seemed to have dragged on too long for her liking, she glanced in his direction, stopping her whistling to pull a face. "So..." she started, drawing out the syllable. "I was talkin' to Winston last night."

Jack exhaled through a scowl, hidden of course by his mask. "Were you, now." It wasn't a question; he didn't want a response.

She nodded, missing or ignoring his prickly attitude. "Yup. You're suspended, he said," she said, sounding a little concerned. "It's almost like you're grounded, innit? Like a kid?"

That's exactly what it was like, a spiteful part of Jack agreed. The same part who still wanted to fight and argue until he gets his way. He didn't respond.

Lena huffed at the continued silence, soldiering on. "Well, I know sittin' around isn't your style. What're you gonna do in the meantime?"

He sighed, resigned. She obviously wasn't going to leave him alone. "He said I need to relax," he said. "I'm too-" Unhinged. Hot-tempered. Reckless. "-wound up."

"Ah," she said, trying for sage but unable to quell the triumphant grin at eliciting a response at last. She nods and her spiky hair bounces a little. "So? How're you gonna relax?"

Part of him was embarrassed to say it, but years of experience told him there was no use trying to hide anything from Lena. This pestering wasn't even the least of her persistence. It was equal parts frustrating and endearing, friendly and annoying.

"I met with Zenyatta this morning. He offered to teach me to meditate."

Lena lit up like a stricken match, bright as the sun for an instant before settling down to a comfortable burn. "Oh! Oh, that's a brilliant idea!" she exclaimed, delighted. "It really worked for-"

"Genji, yeah," Jack said.

She kept on smiling, and Jack couldn't decide if he was annoyed or endeared or both.

"So how'd it go?" she asked. "What's Zenyatta like? I've seen 'im around but I'm always so nervous when I think about talking to him. Oh, I've always wanted to meet a member of the Shambali! Y'know, Mondatta was an-"

"I know," Jack interrupted, audibly warmer. Her mood was contagious, it seemed. "He's..." He didn't know how to describe the omnic. "Strange." That didn't seem to satisfy Lena at all, and she kept those big brown eyes on him expectantly. "He's nothin' like any other omnic I've met." That's the truth, and he leaves it at that. Hell, Zenyatta isn't like anyone Jack had ever met.

Lena hummed thoughtfully, and nodded. "I getcha. He's somethin' else, I'd bet."

Jack snorted. “Yeah, he’s somethin’ else.”

\--

Three weeks later, Jack was this fucking close to losing his mind.

Session after session, day after day, all felt the same - he trudged his way to the practice room, sat on his ass for an hour, and left feeling more frustrated than he'd been before. It wasn't  _ working.  _ He wasn't doing it right, maybe, but he'd come to believe that it was all fake anyway and his companions had been secretly laughing at the idiot old man who wasn't in on their damned omnic secret. Still, he bluffed and faked his way through every session and bolted immediately afterward. He avoided both Genji and Zenyatta as much as he could, to the point where he'd considered asking Winston about adding infra-sight to his visor so he could avoid them more efficiently.

He'd had to start avoiding Lena, too, as impossible as it seemed to do, to get away from her repeated questions about Zenyatta and meditation and  _ Oh, Jack! You have to tell him- _

"God  _ damn  _ it!" he cursed, breaking the silence and his lotus position. "This is hopeless!"

Genji frowned at him, and Zenyatta didn't change position - only lifted his head.

"Jack, what is wrong?" Zenyatta's soothing voice only fanned the flame in the back of Jack's throat.

He shoved his feet back in his shoes and stood. "I can't do this," Jack said. "It doesn't work for me, I'm sick of trying."

Zenyatta's position drooped as if in disappointment. "Oh," he said. "I'm sorry I was unable to help you."

Jack huffed a sound almost like a laugh. "Yeah, me too."

\--

"Arriving in Hong Kong. ETA thirty minutes."

The familiar thrum of the transport's engine and Athena's voice were a welcome familiarity, and much of the tension that had been building in Jack's shoulders over the past month bled away at the sound. His fingers twitched on his rifle, ready to move after the sixteen hour flight. Angela and Fareeha sat at the table with him, the former silently reading a paper book (and Jack thought  _ he  _ was old fashioned) and the latter scrolling through mission reports on a datapad. Across the transport was Song and her mech, again, and Correia dos Santos - the latter was sat on the floor, headphones on and head bobbing along with the beat. Song was sitting on one of her mech's guns, feet dangling while she spoke to the last member of their party - Zaryanova, who was in charge of this mission.

When Winston had called Jack to his office that morning, he'd been... nervous, to say the least. He hadn't seen Zenyatta in a week, nor anyone else - he'd kept a careful distance, hiding out in his room whenever he wasn't in the training quarters blowing up bots, in the hopes that solitude would make him at least  _ seem  _ relaxed, even if he wasn't so sure that was the case.

He wasn't sure what he expected of the summons. Would Winston ask about his attempts at relaxation? Would he scold Jack for his continued unsocial behavior?

"Lena told me you've been working with Zenyatta," he'd said. "I'm sure that has helped your situation a great deal."

Jack cursed inwardly. "I- Yeah," he said. It was more likely this interaction would go well if Winston thought he was still trying, right? So he lied.

Winston smiled just a little, moving around holographic screens with his foot. "That's good. Very good, in fact, as Athena's monitoring of known Talon comm channels has once more bore fruit. A six-man strike team will be flying out to Watchpoint: Hong Kong tonight. I believe your skills would be an aid to the team, if you feel you're-"

"I'm ready!" Jack interrupted, perhaps too eagerly. He cleared his throat. "I'm ready," he said again, nodding minutely.

Within the hour he was briefed and on the transport, relieved to see Genji hadn't been selected for this mission. He'd not yet had the chance to work with Fareeha or Zaryanova in the field, but he trusted the former and had heard a lot about the latter, so he had no qualms with doing so now.

The flight to Hong Kong was long - an estimated sixteen and a half hours - but nothing Jack hadn't done before. He and everyone else had rested at least a little on the ride, and at Athena's announcement of their imminent arrival everyone stirred into motion. Song climbed into her mech and in moments it had stirred to life. Zaryanova began stretching as if preparing for a sport instead of a paramilitary operation, counting off in Russian. Correia dos Santos rose deftly to his feet to balance on the blades of his light skates, glowing green then yellow as calming music filled the air. Fareeha rolled her shoulders and tugged on her beaked helmet, and Angela stood and spun her Caduceus staff like a baton, part restless and part refamiliarizing herself with its weight. Outside the windowed door (It was littered with stickers - cartoon rabbits and frogs amidst Overwatch logos and promotional materials of Tracer, Reinhardt, a younger version of himself. Where had they come from?) the world was dark, lights of civilization on the horizon as the transport made its descent.

Watchpoint: Hong Kong was surprisingly similar to its sister in Gibraltar, built into a small island that classified more as a rocky tooth breaking the night-dark water of the South China Sea, glistening with salt and water in the city light reflecting off the thick cloud cover.

"Arriving at Watchpoint: Hong Kong," Athena's voice came smoothly over the intercom. "Stealth mode initiating. Prepare for touchdown."

All the lights in the transport flicked off at once and Jack stood, hefting the comfortable weight of his rifle in both hands as his visor smoothly transitioned into its red-tinted night vision.

"They do not know we are here," Zaryanova said softly, but loud enough for all to hear. "We are surprising them, understood?" A soft chorus of assenting sounds and quiet nods followed, and she nodded decisively. "Soldier and Mercy, you know this place, yes?" Jack nodded, and Angela stepped forward to mirror him at his side. "They are likely after data, likely stored in servers. Where would we find those?"

"Dr. Roque's old lab," Angela said. "Their computer would have the bulk of it."

Zaryanova nodded. "Good. Soldier, you will lead us there."

"Understood," Jack replied, itching to move. The transport continued to slowly descend, as slowly as possible as to keep quiet - part of the stealth protocol.

"Wait for my signal before attacking, unless we are attacked first," Zaryanova continued, adjusting her grip on her massive particle cannon and cracking a confident smile. "This shouldn't take long."

Once they'd touched down, Jack felt once more that deja vu feeling he kept feeling in Gibraltar. The base was achingly familiar, their slow, careful pace giving him ample time to take in the doors that no longer had the energy needed to close, the chipped and faded paint. He'd been here only a few years ago, searching for answers and redemption in its dilapidated facilities and dusty, broken equipment. It was obvious it had been recently disturbed, if the mess was anything to go by - crates of old, defunct equipment overturned and contents strewn about, broken windows surrounded by glass, a general air of displacement and unrest. When Jack had been here last it had felt like a ghost town, like everyone had simply vanished, leaving the place looking as if they'd all simply gone home for the night. Now it looked like a crime scene, as if something terrible had happened here.

Jack shook the thought from his head.  _ Focus. _

The science wing wasn't somewhere Jack had spent a lot of time, but he'd been there a handful of times; it was comprised mostly of offices and small laboratories, broken up by the massive infirmary and the head scientist's lab - in this case, that was Dr. Roque. Dr. Roque's combination office and laboratory was much like they had been - tucked away and hidden in the science wing, outward appearance as plain and forgettable as it was mysterious. The door was unadorned but for its number and sat wide open, the metal edges bent and burned as if they'd been forced open by any means necessary. Zaryanova gestured, and Jack took the first steps inside, looking around-

Inside it was huge, much the same size as Winston's lab. If memory served, it had been almost eerily ascetic and tidy when the doctor had worked there, but now it was a mess - paper files and datapads littering the ground, equipment gathering dust on cracked screens, chairs and tables shoved aside and toppled over. The main computer was tucked under the upper loft, rows of servers lining the wall and continuing on the upper floor, lights off and apparently nonfunctional.

"Yeah, there's nothing here, boss." Jack startled, ducking back toward the door. "It's all been wiped and cleared except maybe the big one, but that could take days to get online with tech help and we're, uh. Not exactly the IT department."

A Talon agent, Jack guessed. He could hear their footsteps - they weren't alone in the room, if the sounds of quiet, nervous murmuring and shifting weight were anything to go by. One pair was pacing - the one Jack could hear - and the voice was moving as it did. There was faint light bleeding across the floor in Jack's direction, thankfully weak enough to leave him mostly in shadow.

_ "What's wrong with it?" _

Jack stilled. That voice was different, low, dark, and rough. He'd heard it once before in an intercepted comm Athena had recorded for analysis -  _ Reaper.  _ He'd never had the pleasure of meeting the famed mercenary, but he'd heard a considerable amount about him and his exploits as a highly-ranked Talon agent.

"It's completely unresponsive, sir," the first voice said. "We tried to turn it on last night and it made this, like- a noise like thunder, and then all the power went out and we still can't-"

_ "Enough."  _ Reaper sounded... frustrated. Angry.  _ "Get out, then. If we don't find the source of this-" _

There was a great mechanical sound, a churn of machinery and creak of metal; it took Jack a fraction of a second to recognize it, and snapped his head back toward the door. The rest of their party was also staring at the culprit - Song, eyes wide and hands held up by her shoulders and off her mech's controls, but it was too late.

"Shit," she whispered, wincing. "Sorry."

"Who's there?!" There's a soft synthesized sound of an ending vidscreen call and the cocking of a gun - of multiple guns, and booted footsteps getting closer. Jack looked from Song to Zaryanova, a silent question-

She nodded and, in a blur of sound and motion, everything erupted into chaos. Fareeha was suspended above the action, followed by Song who lands heavily on top of one unlucky agent toward the backline. There was a small force of a mere half dozen agents when the fight began, but in moments more arrived through a backdoor after one agent managed to call out an order into his walkie-talkie. It was nearing twenty, but the number was dwindling.

Still, they were putting up a fight - Fareeha cried out in pain and dropped several feet before catching herself, and in moments Angela was tethered to her side by the Caduceus staff and glided through the air to heal her, then Song's smoking mech. Jack lost himself in the familiar actions of combat - shoot, duck out of incoming fire, reload, repeat. He glanced at the charge on his tactical visor over and over as the meter climbed up slowly toward full.

"I'm taking fire!" Angela shouted, stood on the loft on the opposite end of the room - no clear path to fly back to the other side of the makeshift battleground. "I can't get across!"

"Pharah, in the air!" Zaryanova's voice commanded, and Fareeha did as she was told. "Mercy, to her then to me, understood? I will shield you."

Angela nodded, stepping out from cover and wincing in anticipation of fire - but none came. A pale violet bubble of energy had appeared around her, protecting her from damage. "Oh-"

_ "Now,  _ Mercy!" Zaryanova shouted, and Angela stretched out the wings of her suit and, in moments, touched down gently at Jack's side.

"Danke," Angela said, slightly flushed and plainly bewildered.

"It is nothing." Jack rounded back around to reload in time to catch Zaryanova's wink and cheeky smile.

Explosions filled the air - straight forward and loud from Fareeha's and his own rockets and slower, less controlled from Zaryanova's cannon - as did the loud, endless churning of Song's mechs' dual fusion cannons. Jack fired a cluster of helix rockets toward the floor at the center of the room, knocking two nearby agents back several feet into range of those cannons. Zaryanova stepped further into the room, switching from the explosive projectiles to a beam of lavender light that- on contact with the nearest agent he  _ screamed  _ and there was a smell like burning flesh. He lashed out, shooting with panic-poor aim, and Zaryanova just laughed and pulled a lever on her gun that produced another bubble shield - this time around herself.

"Don't be shy, shoot me!" she shouted, smile audible, and when a couple startled agents did so her smile only grew wider. Now she was in front of Jack and he could see six nodes on her back grow brighter and brighter the longer the shield was damaged before it disappeared. "Hah! You make this too easy for me!"

"I need healing!" Song's high voice came across the comm. "My meka's barely responding!"

"I cannot reach you - come closer!" Angela replied, tethered once more to Fareeha, who'd just emerged from the crowd panting and in need of a reload.

"You're outta my range, D.Va," Correia dos Santos replied in kind, sounding regretful. "Mercy's right, you need to-"

"Can't!" Song replied. "Damn it, command is  _ not  _ going to like this..."

Jack stood from his cover, sprinting around the edge of the room toward where her mech was billowing black smoke, red warnings mirrored on the outside of her HUD. He could go to her and drop his biotic field - it wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing and could tide her over until she could get real support. "Don't move, I'm-"

_ "Initiating self-destruct sequence!" _

"Get to cover!" Zaryanova shouted, and Jack dove behind a nearby desk as the mech flew into the air, glowing bright green and tucking in its limbs. He ducked low, covered his head, and in an instant there was a massive sound, then silence but for Jack's labored breathing and his heartbeat in his ears.

He stood, looking around - Angela and Correia dos Santos both emerged from where Jack had left them by the door, looking around and looking understandably startled. Fareeha followed them out, pulling off her helmet to reveal an expression of concern. Zaryanova was nearby, looking merely surprised as her bubble shield disappeared. In the center of the room was Song in her pilot suit and another of Zaryanova's shields, looking shell-shocked as a deer in the headlights.

"Well... that's one way to clear them out," Correia dos Santos said, a weak attempt at a joke. Song stared at the massive black mark in the center of the room, at the mess of furniture shoved toward the outer walls by the force and the bloodied, torn-apart bodies amongst it.

"What the hell was  _ that,  _ Song?!" Jack asked, stomping toward her. "You could have killed  _ all of us.  _ That was stupid and reckless! What the fuck were you thinking?!  _ Were you  _ thinking?!"

"I-"

"And now we can't interrogate any of them because they're all dead. Where are you going to get another mech?! Somehow I doubt the Korean Army is okay with you throwing it away like an old toy!"

"Ja- Soldier..." Angela started, but Jack ignored her.

"This isn't a video game and you don't have multiple lives!" he shouted, coming close enough that Song took an involuntary step back. "You put yours and all of ours in danger, and nearly jeopardized the whole goddamn mission-"

"Soldier: 76, that is enough!"

Jack startled, and to his surprise Fareeha stepped forward, coming to stand between him and Song, armored arms crossed.

"Pharah, she-"

"I don't care what she did. She got the job done and no one got hurt."

"She revealed our position and started the fight in the first place," Jack growled. "Ruined our opportunity to surprise-"

"That was an accident!" Song snapped, and Fareeha stepped out of the way so he could look at her. Her glare, while slightly watery in the eyes as if she would cry, was fiercer than it seemed her stature should allow. "As if you've never made a mistake!"

A retort and an urge to lash out rose in his throat like bile but- but that stopped him.  _ As if you've never made a mistake.  _ He paused, stricken by a barrage of memories - botched missions and friendships turned sour, fist fights and shouting matches and tongue lashings from superiors over and over until he got it right, got  _ anything  _ right. He choked on his words, screeching to a halt. She was young. Younger than he'd been in the SEP, younger than he'd been when he let Overwatch crumble under his fingertips. If she didn't make mistakes, how would she learn? If he wouldn't let her make those mistakes, what kind of hypocrite was he?

He needed... He was too high-strung. All hopes that maybe avoiding the problem would fix it vacated his mind at once. Song swiped at her eyes, crossing her thin arms over her chest and turning her glare off his visor. He dropped the accusatory posture, shoulders drooping with the onset of guilt and rubbing at the back of his neck with the hand not still carrying his rifle. "Sorry," he grunted, simply. "I'll be back at the transport. Let me know if you find anything."

Jack left before anyone could break the silence, Song's words still echoing in his head.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I never meant to take so long, but between moving to a new state, preparing to move AGAIN, playing Overwatch, and doing a whole lotta nothing, it was near impossible to make myself sit down and write this. But! It's here now! Finally!

God, how did it go again?

Breathing - there was so much emphasis on breathing, as if Zenyatta knew a damn thing about it. In, out, focused and drifting, present and distant. He had to keep breathing, ground himself in it, eyes shut and mouth in a tight line, fingers digging into his knees in an effort to keep from balling into fists.

And- and what else? Posture. Straighten his back, relax, keep upright without tension about the shoulders. His spine complained, aching all over from old injuries he'd forgotten about until he tried to clear his mind. He winced, rolling his shoulders and losing focus and cursing under his breath. Why was it so damn easy for the omnic and his pupil?

Jack groaned, posture crumbling in on itself as he buried his head in his hands, knees drawing up in front of him. For the umpteenth time he forced a deep breath (in his nose, out his mouth - Ana had taught him that, at way to calm frayed nerves and short tempers, and his chest ached at the thought) once, twice, thrice with his ribcage creaking like old wood under uncareful feet.

Okay, breathe. Check. Try again. He was nothing if not persistent.

_ (“Stubborn,” _ he could hear Ana saying under her breath, smacking him upside the head.)

On the exhale Jack reformed his (questionably accurate) posture and started forcing himself loose - shoulders sagging, head tilting to the side, loosening the tight bind of his legs just enough to be more comfortable. He kept breathing, in and out and in and out and in-

_ -panting, breathless, lungs and throat aching from shouting. His knuckles were- were they torn or clenched so tight in anger they’d bruised from the inside? He couldn’t tell; they were shaking too hard for him to check and he didn’t have the time anyway, Gabe was so close Jack could taste his furious breath as he shouted, “-fair and you know it, you’ve fucking known it for years but you were so comfortable in your goddamn ivory tower you wouldn’t-” _

_ “Reyes-” he started but Gabe shoved him back, talking over him. _

_ “-admit there was a problem until it was too late to fix. It’s all rotten now, Jack! And you’re the worst of it!” Gabe scoffed, scowling like Jack was something nasty stuck to his boot. “If Ana was here-” _

_ “Don’t you say a goddamn word about Ana!” _

_ “-she’d agree with me! But she’s not here, is she? Because she’s fucking dead. She laid down her life protecting your sorry, incompetent ass. Better soldier than you ever were!” _

Jack choked on air, gasping like a man half-drowned. This wasn’t working; it felt like every time he got close (and  _ god,  _ he’d been so  _ close  _ that time!), the instant his mind was clear his past forced its way to the forefront of his mind like Reinhardt charging an enemy, crushing Jack’s grasp on himself like so many fragile bones. It was a lost cause,  _ he  _ was a lost cause-

No, no,  _ no.  _ Stubborn. The old Jack Morrison would never give up, even if it were a lost cause. And damn it, neither would Soldier: 76. Whoever he was now - some unholy combination of the two, surely - sure as hell wouldn’t either. If that meant getting help, admitting he was wrong, accepting he couldn’t do it on his own, he would do it.

He knew just the omnic to talk to.

\--

Jack took a deep breath outside the practice room door, in through his nose, out through his lips, a little unsteady with nerves. Admitting he was wrong had never been a hobby of his, and asking for help once refused was even more... unappealing. Still, he knew he had to, and knocked gently with the back of one hand before pushing the door open.

Zenyatta was alone, curled in his typical lotus a handful of inches above the ground, orbs circulating and making their arrhythmic chiming music. Instantly the sound put Jack at least a little more at ease as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him, quietly. The omnic didn’t move or respond, as if he hadn’t heard Jack enter. Jack cleared his throat, shifting his weight idly.

“You’ve returned,” Zenyatta said at last, an implied question in his tone.

“I- Yeah.” Jack nodded jerkily. “I’m... I’m sorry. I want to try again.”

Though Zenyatta’s faceplate could not move, something about the way he tilted his head was reminiscent of a beaming smile. “Do not apologize! I’m glad you are willing to continue once more.” The invisible smile was audible, too, and Jack wondered how exactly that worked. A question for another time, perhaps.

As always, Zenyatta walked him through the process - he breathed, closed his eyes, sat back slowly to align his spinal column to support his weight. Eventually the omnic’s soothing voice fades away to silence, the white noise of his robotics a mirror to Jack’s own breathing. Once again Jack tried to clear his mind, caught in the paradox of focusing on  _ not  _ focusing, on forcing himself to breathe naturally while distinctly aware of every movement of his lungs. His hands on his knees squeezed tight, jaw gritting in frustration as he drops handfuls of his sweatpants and instead fists his fingers.

_ Calm down,  _ he repeats in his head.  _ Calm down.  _ He takes a breath through his nose and tries to smooth out the furrow of his brow, fists tightening.  _ It’s not working. _

A low hum jerks Jack out of his thoughts and a pain in his palms warns him to unclench his fists - he’d managed to break skin, and he hissed as he stretched out his fingers, the cool air stinging the tiny wounds.

“Something is wrong,” Zenyatta said, at length.

Jack stared at his hands for a moment before balling his fists again, growling under his breath. He wasn’t sure if that had been a question or not.

Zenyatta hummed again, pensive and perhaps concerned. “What is troubling you, Jack?”

The growl culminated in something like a soft roar of frustration, running one bloodied hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he said, exasperation plain in his voice. “I don’t- It’s not working! This is a waste of time.” Though- if it wouldn’t work, what would he do? What  _ could  _ he do? “Why can’t I do this?!”

“You need to clear your mind,” Zenyatta said, insufferably patient.

“I  _ can’t,”  _ Jack insisted. A sort of helpless feeling lodged itself in his throat, choking off any further reply.

The omnic sighed, finally releasing his meditation and descending to rest on the ground, orbs rising to encircle his neck once more. “Tell me your thoughts, Jack. Progress cannot be made if we don’t know the source of the problem.”

“I don’t know!” he repeated. “There’s no- If there’s a source, I sure as hell can’t find it.”

Zenyatta once more appeared pensive, mechanical parts whirring a thoughtful hum as he tilted his head, seeming to size Jack up. “I have a... possible solution.” When he spoke he sounded reluctant - worried, even. “It may not be wise but-”

“Spit it out!” Jack snapped.

Zenyatta nodded, acquiescing. “I am sure you know I am a healer, of sorts, from the time I spend with Angela in the medbay.” Jack nodded. “Where she uses her own biotic technology, I use something different. Through my connection to the Iris I can summon an Orb of Harmony, which I can tether to the injured. With it, I can spiritually comfort and physically heal my friends and allies. This is, of course, not the full extent of my abilities - as with all things, there is a balance. One cannot have Harmony without Discord. My Orb of Discord functions similarly, summoned of the Iris’s energy and tethered to another, but instead of comforting it preys on one’s doubts, fears, and weaknesses, often leaving the subject... vulnerable, for a time.” He paused, perhaps to gauge Jack’s reaction. Jack didn’t move, but Zenyatta seemed satisfied nonetheless. “To identify the source of your anger and recklessness, I can put the Orb onto you for a short time to bring such things to the surface.”

Part of him thought he should have been reluctant - to allow himself to be put in such a state sounded terrifying - but instead Jack nodded immediately. “I- Yeah, sure, let’s- anything.”

Zenyatta inclined his head in acknowledgement, rising once more off the floor and allowing his orbs to float around him in a comfortable orbit. “Signal to me when you are ready.”

Jack took a deep breath of filtered air, rolled his shoulders, and nodded minutely.  There was a sound like a bell ringing, distorted and unpleasant as a dark shape was shot through the air toward him. He felt it instantly, a wave of cold like needles on his skin, equal parts painful and numb, distracting and distant.

_ “Damn it,”  _ Jack growled, gritted through his teeth in an attempt to keep from biting his tongue. The dark-and-violet aura of the orb seemed to envelop him, rimming his vision like an otherworldly frame of energy. He squeezed his eyes shut against a barrage of-

_ He may as well have killed all of them, Ana and Gabe and countless others all dead as if by his own hand, slaughtered by his arrogance and carelessness, how the fuck had he thought he could lead? He should have just died in the explosion, died with Gabe and everyone else caught in the crossfire of their stupid fight that wouldn’t have even happened if he’d had the sense to turn down the promotion that was rightfully Gabe’s. Even now he couldn’t get it right, failing his team and getting his stupid ass suspended - he wished he hadn’t heard about the recall, wished he could just up and leave Gibraltar and never look back. He wasn’t helping the team, he wasn’t helping anyone, he was a frustrating, inept , bull-headed hypocrite, no longer a leader or team player but a vigilante, lawless and self-righteous, everything he’d ever preached against- _

It felt like hours, like  _ ages  _ that the flood of guilt and fury at his own incompetence rushed through the gate wrenched open by the Orb of Discord. Then, all at once, it was gone, Jack’s mind all his own once more. He gasped, throat tight, and he realized he’d- that he was  _ crying.  _ Without a thought about vulnerability - because really, how much more vulnerable could he be at this point - he removed his mask to take in thick breaths of air, tear tracks hot and cold on his scarred face before he rubbed them away with the back of his hand. He choked on a sob, unused to the feeling; god, how many years had it been since he’d cried?

“I’m sorry,” Zenyatta said, in part remorseful, and Jack wasn’t sure if he felt annoyed or comforted. He drew in deep breaths, too-quick perhaps, in an attempt at stopping the swelling tide of emotion in his throat. “I did not know it would affect you so... profoundly.”

Jack snorted. “You and me, both,” he said, voice frail and wet.

He couldn’t see the omnic as anything but a broad blur of yellow and gray, but he imagined Zenyatta looked concerned, or reluctant, when he spoke next.”I... When you are ready to share, I am... listening.” He’d never heard the omnic so unsure, and he wondered if he felt as out of order as Jack did.

Jack opened his mouth to reply, but stopped short, wordless. What had that all been? He continued to breathe deeply, sorting through the mess of thoughts as best as he could.

“I’m... There’s a lot of guilt,” he admitted, careful with his words. His voice wavered, and part of him wanted to hate the feeling of vulnerability, but instead it felt... okay. As if it was safe, here. As if  _ he  _ was safe, alone with Zenyatta, unarmed and unmasked. “A lot of people have died at... at the hands of my leadership. A lot of people died, while I got off free to become whatever the hell I am now. A damned vigilante.” Zenyatta nodded mutely, encouraging him to continue. “And...  _ because  _ of that guilt, I’m scared to lead and to work with a team again.” He scoffed at himself derisively. “I’m a coward and a hypocrite, taking out my anger at myself on everyone else.”

Zenyatta was silent for a long time but Jack didn’t mind. He unfolded his legs and rested his elbows atop his knees, bare feet planted flat on the ground before him. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed a little raggedly, still coming down from his fit of crying. He swiped at his eyes again to be sure they were dry.

After a long, comfortable silence, the omnic made a noise like a clearing throat. Jack turned his face toward the noise, noting with mild humor that he was just as able to maintain eye contact with the omnic blind as he was when he could see.

“I will not tell you that none of what plagues you is your own fault,” he began, seemingly as careful as Jack had been. “Because I doubt you will believe me. I will not tell you that you are not entitled to feel your guilt and anger, because you are.” Not the comfort Jack had expected, but he stayed silent, listening. “I will tell you, however, that the way you are overcome by these feelings is unfair to you. The path to peace is through accepting that you cannot change what happened in the past, but that you  _ can _ change your perceptions of it, yourself, and your future.”

Jack stared, then swallowed, nodding. “I- Okay. Um. Thank you, Zenyatta.”

“Now,” the omnic said, and there was a whir of mechanical movement. “Would you like to try again?”

\--

“Jack? Are you there?”

His visor was in hand, freshly removed, and he sighed and set it down on the bedside table. His blinds were open and without the aid of his visor, the room was a bright blur of pale light. Jack backtracked to the door and reopened it, leaning in the frame.

“Do you need something, doc?” he asked, one hand in the pockets of his sweats and the other brushing his hair to the side.

He could hear Angela’s smile when she spoke. “Ah, Jack! It’s nice to see you. I feel like we haven’t spoken in ages. How... How are you feeling?”

Jack shrugged, shoulders feeling lighter than they had in years. “Better,” he said, genuine. And  _ wow,  _ a part of him never would have dreamed he’d ever say that and mean it. “A lot better.”

Angela laughed, a soft sound startled out of her. “What on earth’s gotten into you, Jack?” she said warmly.

It was nearly a month since the mission in Hong Kong and a lot had seemed to change in that time, in small pieces. He met with Zenyatta daily, now, every session now underlain by an understanding they’d been missing before. Every day he sat down with Zenyatta and occasionally Genji (if he wasn’t on a mission or training in the next room), and now he could clear his head with ease. Of course with that came more flashbacks, but now he could breathe,  _ breathe,  _ and clear his mind once more, Zenyatta’s words of wisdom clear in his mind.  _ ”The path to peace is through accepting that you cannot change what happened in the past, but that you can change your perceptions of it, yourself, and your future.”  _ Jack felt that, now, he was on that path to peace.

“I’ve been, ah, working with Zenyatta,” he simplified. “Meditating, mostly.”

“Oh!” Another soft startle. “Oh, that’s wonderful. I wouldn’t have pegged you as the meditating type.”

He chuckled low, shaking his head. “Yeah, me neither.”

“It’s been nice to see you out and about a bit more,” she continued. “You’re locked up in this room less and less. You know, we were getting worried about you. Especially Fareeha and I.”

“I know,” he said, a little wryly. “I’m sorry.” Abruptly he stood straight, backing into his room with the door still open. “Oh, that reminds me-” He opened the drawer of his bedside table, rooting around for- ah. “I’ve been meaning to give this to Fareeha. Could you pass it on for me?”

His target in one hand, he put his visor on with his other, blinking as the bright light of the room was once more brought into scarlet relief. Now able to see, he noticed Angela was in civilian clothes, sans lab coat and hair down. Her brows were raised in confusion.

“What is it?” she asked, holding out her hands to take the framed photograph. Her eyes went wide when she saw its subjects, a young Jack and Reyes and Ana smiling in uniform. The more serious photo taken after this one was preferred by its other subjects and the Overwatch public affairs team, but this one had been his favorite.

“Pictures don’t do me much good without my visor,” he explained to Angela’s extended silence. “And- I don’t imagine she has a lot of pictures of her mother smiling.”

Angela covered her mouth with one hand, looking a little teary. “Oh, Jack, she’ll- Wow. She’ll love this. Are you sure you don’t want to give it to her yourself?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure. I think she’s still mad at me for Hong Kong.” He’d already apologized to Song, shouting over the sound of her (new) mech while she practiced aerial maneuvers in the open air over the watchpoint’s launchpad.  _ “No worries, old man,” _ wasn’t the kind of forgiveness he’d been seeking, but it would do.

Angela shook her head. “I’ll be happy to give it to her.”

“Thanks, Angela.”

“Of course.” She tucked the photo under her arm. “Oh! Before I forget, I came to tell you that Mei responded to the recall. She’ll be here within the week.” Angela smiled. “So many agents old and new! It’s almost like old times.”

Jack half-laughed, nodding. “Sure is. Soon enough it’ll be downright homey.”

\--

The watchpoint was often quiet since the fall of Overwatch. A solemn hush of ghosts whispering over the rocks, even the ever-present seabirds taking a moment of silence. When agents started returning, the silence began to break - murmurs of conversation, sudden bursts of distant laughter, gunfire from the practice range and rockets from the hangar.

Jack was used to quiet watchpoints, searching their hollowed halls for mementos, clues as to what caused the fall, anything at all, but Gibraltar had always been different. Quiet moments outside the locked doors of his soundproofed quarters were hard to come by, and moreso as their numbers slowly grew.

Somewhere on the rock the agents, recalled and new alike, were gathered to celebrate. Silence was the last thing on their minds as they welcomed Mei with open arms, Angela asking about the effects of long-term cryostasis and Song gushing about her scientific journals. It was a bright spot the likes of which were seldom seen in the months of secrecy and paranoia following the recall.

Jack, however, couldn’t hear them. He’d taken his leave soon after Mei’s transport arrived, seeing the opportunity for what it was. Still fully dressed in his 76 leather jacket, boots, and visor, he took a seat on the longest stretch of uncovered cliffs, out behind the comm tower.

He heard soft footsteps and a near-imperceptible whir of mechanical servos behind him as he unhooked his visor. “Zenyatta.”

The omnic sat at his side, physically touching the ground with his legs dangling over the edge, as Jack’s were.

“Hello, Jack,” Zenyatta said, mild as ever. “It is good to see you.”

“You, too.” The cooling evening air was refreshing on his exposed face, and Jack removed his jacket, folding it and setting it aside with his visor. “How was Nepal?”

An offshoot of the thought-dead- omnic extremist group, Null Sector, had popped up in a small village not far from the Shambali monastery. The small team sent to deal with the issue - Zenyatta, Lena, Genji, and Winston - had returned to Gibraltar hours before Mei had, after several days gone.

“It was certainly interesting,” Zenyatta replied. “There’s never a quiet moment with Lena, is there? Between questions about myself and Mondatta and the Shambali, and stories about the London Uprising, there was little time to pause.”

Jack laughed. Typical Lena. “Sounds about right.”

“Seeing my brothers and sisters in the Iris was nice,” Zenyatta continued. “I hadn’t been back since Mondatta’s death. I was surprised to learn they had missed me as well - I had believed myself unwelcome, but Lena insisted we visit while the villagers were reminiscing with Genji and fawning over Winston.” He laughed, and Jack continued to smile.

“I’m glad it went well,” Jack said and lapsed into silence, watching the horizon. Without his visor he, of course, couldn’t pick out the detail of the crashing waves or the jagged, salt-crusted stones cutting through them like teeth, but again, without the visor the world wasn’t filtered through a haze of red. The spectacular colors - orange and pink and red and gold and the slowly encroaching navy-black night - were on full display, melded together until Jack couldn’t tell where one ended and another began. It was worth it. Sometimes, after long missions and wearing the visor too long, he forgot color existed.

“It’s beautiful,” Zenyatta said as though he’d read Jack’s mind. Then, “Was there any reason in particular you wished to see me here, Jack?”

Jack glanced over, Zenyatta’s chome playing turning him into a brilliant gold blur. “Yeah, actually,” he said. “I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?”

“All you’ve done for the team. All you’ve done for me.”

There was a flash of reflected light and Jack imagined Zenyatta had inclined his head. “I understand, he said. “I don’t - excuse me, but why say so out here?”

“The first time we spoke, you told me you never get to meditate outside,” Jack said, casually. “Something about noise and the humidity being terrible for your hair, right?”

A moment of quiet, then a bemused, “Something like that.”

“Well, I can’t do anything about the humidity,” Jack grinned, then gestured with his arms wide. “But I think with everyone celebrating on the other side of the watchpoint, this is as quiet as it gets in Gibraltar.”

Zenyatta was quiet for an almost worryingly long moment before he replied. “That... is awfully thoughtful of you,” he said, and if Jack didn’t know any better he’d have thought the omnic was choked up.

Pretending he didn’t notice, Jack waved him off. “Think of it as a token of my thanks,” he said. “Besides, what are friends for?”

There was a sound of servos as Zenyatta moved, followed by the telltale, barely-there hum of his levitation kicking in and the ringing of his orbs as he assumed his meditating position. “Thanks aren’t necessary,” he said. “Nothing brings me more contentment than knowing I have helped another know peace.”

Then, softly, he chuckled. “Besides,” he echoed. “What are friends for?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter should be Soon™ but with my track record, I'm not gonna promise any concrete amount of time. Thanks for sticking with me!
> 
> Check out my tumblr (@altfire) if you wanna.
> 
> -Ray


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize it's been like seven months since the last chapter and I'm super sorry. Shit happens. This isn't that important anyway, more just an epilogue to lead us into the next part of the series, Symbiosis. Keep an eye out for that - it's similar to this in that it's an unlikely pair of Overwatch characters becoming friends, except instead of Soldier and Zen, it's Roadhog and Symmetra. Also that one's supposed to be novel-length. Exciting.
> 
> Anyway, thanks everyone for sticking with me! I'd love to promise more frequent updates but honestly, I have no idea when I'll update anything next. Nevertheless, I'm glad this is done.
> 
> Check out my tumblr @altfire!!  
> -Ray

In the heat of battle, there was a lot to focus on.

First, the sounds of it all. The familiar repetitive fire of his rifle, pulse rounds cutting through the air and piercing thick, uncovered flesh - but  _ god,  _ this guy just wouldn’t die, would he? The buzz-crack of Winston’s Tesla cannon, the smooth electronic sound of his shield being deployed, and a warped noise as grenades bounced off of it. They dinged like a microwave reaching completion before exploding, throwing heat and shrapnel in every direction. Merely seconds after being placed it was destroyed, followed by the rough, strange sliding sound of Mei putting up an ice wall in its place, providing a measure of protection and time to breathe. Several loud bursts of something like a shotgun but messier, bits and pieces of metal falling to polished tile with soft, high clinks, and the wall shattered and crumbled to pieces. The massive, undying man on the other side threw a hook through the air with a jingling of chain and a deep, horrible laugh - but it cracked against Mei, frozen in stasis. That couldn’t be safe, right? Though, anything would be preferable to falling into the clutches of the man they called “Roadhog.”

Second, the feelings - the still, cool air of the largest museum in the world slowly growing warmer from the fire of combat, of combustion and body-warmth. There was a palpable chill when standing too close to Mei or her constructions (or their remains) that was both a relief from the warmth and jarring enough to make Jack shiver. His knees ached as he sprinted toward new cover, constantly moving, then he screamed as metal teeth embedded themself in his knee and calf trapping him in place. There was a high cackle followed by grenades flying past him so close he could feel them breeze past his ear, bounce off his jacket. His heart pounded and he fumbled for a biotic field, but before he could activate it he felt- he felt something like numb, neither warm nor cold but comfortable, his torn flesh stitching together without the hot-cold tingle of biotics. “Walk in harmony, Soldier,” Zenyatta said over the comm. Jack was unused to the feeling of the Orb of Harmony, but it was anything but unwelcome. He shot a helix rocket at his feet, breaking the trap, and the Orb healed him as he continued to fight.

Third, the smell of gasoline and gunpowder, of air burnt by electricity and the curious aroma of biotics as Roadhog slotted a metal canister covered in chipped yellow paint into his mask, the connection imperfect and healing gas leaking into the air. The air was full of dust and engine fumes from the impossibly big motorcycle sticking in halfway through the hole in the wall, still chugging out black smoke from its exhaust pipe. It was a wonder it hadn’t exploded yet, but with the smell of burning rubber and oil in the air, it was only a matter of time. He wasn’t close enough to know, but Jack was sure the Junkers reeked of body odor and filth, from the looks of them. He imagined he could smell Junkrat’s burning hair from across the room.

Fourth, a mouthful of unfiltered air - something had hit his mask,  _ damn it,  _ and the bottom half was cracked and sparking. The unholy combination of blood and ash and dust on his tongue nearly gagged him and he winced, bit the inside of his cheek to distract from it.

Fifth, the sights. Priceless art lined the walls behind protective glass, barely visible through the smoke and the reflected light, a night sky devoid of stars, streetlight illuminating the makeshift battlefield through the windows and the hole in the wall. The motorcycle was huge, bigger than Jack had ever seen, and he guessed that was to accommodate its owner - easily the biggest man Jack had ever seen, as tall as Reinhardt was in his Crusader armor but without such augmentation. Roadhog was as intimidating in person as his reputation had implied, hulking and powerful, the ground trembling at his every step. Junkrat, on the other hand, was taller in person than anyone had thought - compared to Roadhog he’d looked tiny on television, but he was several inches taller than Jack was and as lanky as Roadhog wasn’t. His height was only obvious when he chose to stand straight, however - otherwise he sported a deep hunch caused by the spiked, probably-rigged-with-explosives truck tire on his back.

A loud churning screech of what sounded like several pounds of shrapnel and shredded metal ripped into existence and Roadhog began to laugh, low and hungry and booming and powerful, as he slapped a funnel full of screws and too-sharp bits of metal onto the top of his shotgun. Jack hardly had the time to process the incredible force and pain shoving him into the wall behind him before blinding light came into being, familiar symbols in an unfamiliar context. His visor darkened to bring the sight into focus and he saw Zenyatta, the soft glow of his harmony orb magnified a thousandfold as six orange, otherworldly arms sprouted from his back.

“Experience tranquility,” he said, as calm as ever, with a power to his voice that seemed to come from all directions, or from within Jack’s own head. Every wound that Roadhog’s seemingly never ending rain of shrapnel caused seemed to instantly close, the experience shocking and unnerving at first, but then Jack’s senses came back to him and he began fighting again, as if he weren’t pinned to the wall by the force of the attack.

He imagined Roadhog’s hidden eyes going wide as he made a soft noise of confusion, then a great beast-like growl as he grew frustrated and threw the funnel to the ground, the corner of it screeching against tile. He threw his hook again and it landed, the nails stuck through the end embedding deep in Jack’s flesh and he screamed. Flesh tore and bled and his back cracked as he was yanked through the air toward Roadhog’s massive form. Before he had the chance to duck or run as the hook fell away, Roadhog fired a massive blast from his shotgun- only for it to explode in front of Jack, blue hexagons rippling with the impact.

“Hi there,” Winston said, mock-saluting Roadhog through his freshly deployed barrier.

Jack found it in himself to laugh even through the pain, and sprinted back toward Zenyatta in the backline. Once there he dropped his biotic field, both for himself but also for the omnic, who he noticed seemed to be leaking oil from an injury, the smell strong and familiar, reminiscent of that night in Buenos Aires what felt like ages ago. Strange.

“‘M tired of this,” Roadhog grunted, barely audible even with the assistance of Jack’s visor. He hung his hook back at his side and gestured to Junkrat. “Cook ‘em, Rat.”

Junkrat shrieked with pleasure, excitement palpable. “Oh, Roadie, I’m so glad you asked!” he cackled, and reached back with what seemed to be uncharacteristic strength to grab the tire off his back and plant it firmly on the ground as his feet. “Fire in the hole!”

He pulled back on a chain as if starting a lawnmower and the tire roared to life, right as Jack’s visor came online. “Tactical visor activated,” he growled into the comm, locking on to the tire’s wild maneuvers with ease until it exploded, far from himself and his team.  Junkrat honest-to-God whined, stomping his peg leg in a way that couldn’t have been comfortable or natural. Jack took the opportunity to launch a cluster of Helix rockets at the ground by Junkrat’s foot, doing minimal damage but knocking him off his feet.

“Mei, are you ready?” he asked, dodging stray grenades and Roadhog’s continued barrage of shrapnel blasts. It felt odd using her given name, but she (like Winston and the DJ) preferred that to using a call sign.

“Yes, Soldier!” she said, face stern and determined. “Snowball, ready?” The small robot on her back beeped an affirmative, an oddly cute sound amidst the atmosphere. Then, Mei smirked a little and tossed the robot into the air.

“Freeze! Don’t move!”

Before Junkrat had the chance to stand, he was in the middle of a massive circle of icy wind and snow generated by Snowball. Jack was right at the edge of the blizzard and sprinted out of it, turning to find both of the Junkers frozen solid. Perfect.

Winston jumped back on them, his fur leaving him mostly unbothered by the cold, ready with restraints of his own design. Mei was dressed for the cold as always and joined him, retrieving the criminals’ weapons (and visibly struggling with Roadhog’s scrap gun, massive as it was) and beginning to carry them back to the transport, stepping over rubble and piles of already-melting snow on her way. Zenyatta joined her, finally resting his feet back on the ground and taking the scrap gun as if it weighed nothing. He only floated in battle and while meditating, Jack had noticed. Otherwise he walked on his sandaled feet, as he did now.

“What do you guys even want? Who are you?” Junkrat asked, high and grating, as he thawed. “You don’t look like pigs to me, ‘cept maybe Robocop over there-” He gestured with his peg leg toward Jack, still planted on his behind with his hands now bound. “-so I’m kinda confused.”

“We’ll tell you when we get out of here,” Winston said. “You’re coming with us, we-”

“Overwatch.”

Jack, Winston, and Junkrat all turned when Roadhog spoke.

“The hell you on about?” Junkrat asked, face contorting in confusion.

“Winston,” Roadhog said, nodding toward Winston. “And Morrison.” He did the same toward Jack. “Remember you. On the news, end of the crisis. I thought you were done.”

“We are,” Jack said, a little perturbed that Roadhog had recognized him so easily as Jack Morrison. “Or, we’re supposed to be. We’ll tell you more when we’re back at Gibralt-.”

“You’re takin’ us with you?” Junkrat interrupted. “You’re not turnin’ us in? The hell not?”

“I’ve already said too much,” Jack said, striding over to grab Junkrat by the upper arm and yank him to his feet. “Come. We have a lot to talk about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :) Check out my tumblr @altfire  
> -Ray


End file.
